Pink Litter 14/9
A scarlet story on your face — from peaks
to pit, your life in lips showcased. You show
them what you cannot hide: a blush as meek
as what has died inside, in children’s clothes.
A drink, while changing, with a ghost— a waif
that hates her dad the most. She shot him dead
while just a teen. Acquitted, siblings safe,
she bleeds men green, a tiaraed towhead.
Your boss — a former showgirl, too, fishnets,
stilettos, three-button blazer, blue — was once
a girl found naked, side of road. From sweat
in duct tape while her life implodes to struts.
A naked world three showgirls understand:
all life you know a show below some man.
The guilty shall not go unpunished. Fuck the innocent don’t go either. This is how we’re born and poof, just like that, we can’t recover. –M.R.
